


Candle

by gameboysandsextoys



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gameboysandsextoys/pseuds/gameboysandsextoys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ADWD, Jon has fled the Watch and gone across the Narrow Sea at the urging of the Lady Melisandre, to find the fire made flesh to save mankind from the White Walkers. He comes upon Meereen after some time, but finds his resolve waning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candle

The single flame flickered and danced in the tepid desert breeze. Night was falling, yet still he laid abed, the urge to move had not stirred for what felt like days. His appetite was null, though pangs of hunger gurgled in his stomach. His life was in pieces from what it had been not a month past. Lord Commander of the Night's Watch at seven and ten, and stabbed in the back by his own men before the year had rounded. Quite literally, he had been stabbed by six separate blades, multiple times. It was only by Lady Melisandre's fate that he even lived. She had called him from the edges of the shadow lands as the Night's Watch erupted upon itself, scrambling to replace the Lord Commander they thought to be dead. Yet in her chambers, before the fire, she had given him breath and healed his contusions. "You must leave. Your men have betrayed you." She warned, the red stone at her neck pulsing as she spoke in a hushed whisper. "Flee to the East, for there is a power there that may save us all, Jon Snow. I have seen it in the flames." Her crimson eyes were treacherous, unnerving, but it had seemed he had no other allies.

Jon struggled with the morality of the situation for days while he laid hidden beneath the Wall, hidden from the rest of the camp. Would he be a turn cloak? A deserter? A traitor? No. He finally realized, they have abandoned me yet. Though all is not lost. Such a task would not be simple, for Jon knew not what he was looking for, or where to begin his search, but the red woman was the only being who he even moderately trusted. For two fortnights Melisandre prayed beside him, sneaking away food was not difficult, for she never seemed to eat. Though one chilly night, the two snuck down to the stables where she gave him a moderate pouch of gathered supplies and a surprising amount of money to provide for his initial crossing. "You are our last hope, Jon Snow." She added wistfully as he mounted the antsy young mare with some difficulty. "Find those that are fire made flesh, they are the power that shall vanquish the darkness." With that he took off east, riding with all speed through the forest surrounding Castle Black.

He traveled off the road for many miles, sleeping beneath ramshackle tents and nearly deserted inns. After some time, Ghost loped up beside his mount and lingered while they rode, but often slunk off once night fell, especially when they came upon more populous areas. It didn't take long for Jon to exchange his black clothing for those of varied hues; crimson, grey, yellow-brown. As far as he could distance himself from his old identity the better, that man was dead. For once in his life, Jon was glad for his bastard name. He was nigh untraceable. With winter falling fast, Jon hurried their march until they finally came upon the sea. It was a sore sight, and the once crow was desperate for any ship that would take him. Parting with Ghost had been a feat in itself. He knew not when he would see the wolf again in waking. The first he boarded was some leagues south of Eastwatch by the Sea, a small fishing galley making its way to White Harbor. She was called Her Bonny Lass, and the crew was a mismatched assortment of weathered sailors, poor men, and drunks, though good company all the same. Having sold his mount in a nearby village for a fair price, Jon was able to buy passage. Ghost lingered on the far shore, a white shadow on the coastline, and there he stood until the ship sank into the horizon. 

His dark tresses had grown to hang long, framing his stern, noble face; the inky bramble that had come in thick about his jaw added years to his meager twenty. Many months upon the sea had tanned his pale skin, his pale slate eyes peeked bright from behind bushy brows. He had grown nearly six inches since he had last seen the interior of Winterfell, and it seemed he had gained a lifetime of experience. Thick bands of coiled muscle bound about his body, his hands were gnarled and marred with pale scar tissue. He was slouched now in small chambers, only thin silk serving to cloak him, for even the nights in Meereen were unbearable for one of Northern blood. A small round table carved of unvarnished birch slumped in the corner along with two matching stools. A maroon chest with brass inlays sat against the wall, it was filled with what possessions Jon had come to own in his time at sea and exploring Essos. The silver queen had offered him what she could in terms of clothing and weaponry, but he took little and gave what service he could. They had become considerably close friends in their time together, though it took time for the once crow to earn her trust. He was a vital advisor, though his official title was still vague, for even Jon knew not what he wanted. Would he return to the Watch once Westeros had been saved? Would he consider to serve Queen Daenerys? His thoughts were still muddled on the subject, thick in a haze of indecision, as a knock sounded on the door. 

"Come in." He coughed and moved to sit, his hair a tumble of dark curls plastered with sweat across his forehead. Jon wore no shirt, a dark black fuzz covered his chest, coating the ripples of muscle that stretched there. The heavy wooden door was pushed open slowly and the queen herself stood there, all done up with moonlight in her hair. She had a shallow smile done up on her plush lips as she closed the door behind her. They had little alone time between her cluster of advisors and admirers, her children and her subjects. Ser Barristan was ever present at her side, pale eyes wary of this bastard Northerner, the once crow. It was clear he thought him a deserter, a traitor, but Jon had no choice, or so he told himself silently after every cruel glance. She was cloaked in a dress of sheer teal silk that danced about her ankles; her long silver curls were hanging freely, framing her lean face as the moon shone through the open window. "Your Grace." He mumbled softly, to which she shook her head. "We're alone Jon, there is no need for such courtesies." Her voice was honey and cream, a sweet melody that entranced him as a siren's song. 

"I'm-- indecent." Jon was suddenly aware of how exposed he was, and he recoiled away, dark brows furrowed. Though she only laughed, a tinkling soprano that echoed about the small chamber. "Jon, stop this coyness, I'm here to see to you." His grey eyes widened slightly at her words, and she continued forward silently, for no sandals graced her small feet. She extended a hand and pressed the knuckles against his forehead, "You're burning up." She tutted softly and sat down upon the featherbed mattress, the candlelight casting elongated shadows across her face. Her violet eyes shone in the fire's light, cemented on the man before her as she ran gentle fingers through his dark ribbons of hair until he shut his eyes, relaxed. "I have missed your company, Jon. What ails you? Shall I send the medic to see to you?" Her careful palpitations had lulled him into a state of drowsiness to which he only mumbled in response. "I have been feeling unwell is all." Daenerys scooted herself a bit closer, allowing his his head to rest upon her hipbone as she fingered the curls carefully, adoringly. "Ah." She cooed, her fingertips leaving sparks of fire along his jaw and up his hairline. 

Though unknown to his dragon queen, Jon had been overturning the thoughts of the Watch he had left behind. Though unknown to the young half-Stark, Bowen Marsh and his lackeys had been the ones to take knives to their Lord Commander's back. They had not been alone in their disapproval of Jon Snow's actions as leader, but they were prosecuted all the same. Marsh and the five men he had rounded up in his revolt, were beheaded promptly for their actions against the Night's Watch. Ser Denys Mallister was voted as the 999th Lord Commander, to which he surprisingly upheld several changes put in place by Jon, mainly to save those Wildlings willing to kneel. The growth of Mole Town was exponential, thanks to the Watch allowing the free folk to flock South, away from winter's shadows. The threat had only grown more worrisome, with the amount of rangers now being lost beyond the Wall, Mallister had banned rangings, hoping to save the lives of as many of his men as he could. Meanwhile, Jon was sailing through the autumn storms across the narrow sea, hurling in a bucket below deck as the boat rocked mercilessly. 

And still she ran her fingers through his dark mop of hair as sleep settled over him, for the first time in some time. Insomnia had plagued him for several days, though he had remained abed for much of that time. The darkness swirled within him and motivation had fled his being. He had felt pathetic, but the silver queen appeared only concerned for his ailment rather than impatient. Jon had began to notice how she carefully crooned over him, and made special care to see how he was feeling each morning. There was something deeper than what it seemed on the surface, though Jon seemed only slightly aware. Daenerys, though, she was shockingly aware how unique the once-crow was. She had been drawn to him from the start, and silently noted the fact that she would request for him to become a member of her Queen's Guard once they took Westeros. She continued to play amongst his curls, smiling subtly as they sat, poised there in the silence of his chambers. Sleep took him slowly once she arrived, his heavy breathing tainting the room with the heaviness of night. She was silent all the while, as she shimmied beneath the silk sheets, her body pressed up beside his, their warmth blending into something mutual. And as Daenerys clutched him in her arms, sleep came upon them, and there they slept the night through. They both dreamt of a place where their responsibilities where lifted from their shoulders, and they were together, happy at last.


End file.
